


Laundry Day

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: What if you were the neighbor Steve offered to let use his washing machine?





	Laundry Day

 

You’d been surprised when Steve had offered to let you use his machine. You’d run into him on yet another trip down the stairs to the laundry room in the basement, the basket of clothes in your arms overflowing because you always waited until the last possible minute to do your laundry. Running up and down the stairs several times a day was just not appealing. He’d come around the corner, jogging up the stairs, effortlessly of course, sliding to a stop when he saw you.

You’d chatted, he’d flirted, you’d blushed, he’d offered the use of his machine, which you’d refused, sure he was just doing it to be polite. An hour later, he’d shown up at your door with a key in his hand, insisting you take it. You’d finally agreed, giggling at the grin it brought to his face.

“Thank you, Steve,” you’d said. “Really.”

“You’re welcome.” He’d winked and disappeared back into his apartment.

So that was how you found yourself in Steve’s apartment early on a Wednesday afternoon, one load of clothes in the washing machine, the other waiting to go in. You’d been using his machine for over a month, always trying to use it when he wasn’t home, not wanting to intrude. A couple of times you’d crossed paths, Steve coming in as you were going out or vice versa, but the two of you had kept a fair distance from each other. 

Not that you wanted it that way. I mean, it was Steve Rogers, Captain America, and God knew you’d been attracted to him since the day he’d moved in across the hall from you. The two of you had gone out a few times - coffee once or twice, a spontaneous lunch date one afternoon, followed by a walk in the park, another time he’d come over and watched a movie, one on the list in his little notebook, one you happened to own. It wasn’t serious, but it was fun, comfortable. You kept hoping that it could be more, would eventually be more, but you knew that he probably had women throwing themselves at him everyday and you didn’t want to get in that line. You liked Steve, liked spending time with him, being with him, and you hoped he felt the same way. But you were patient, you could wait.

The chiming of the washing machine pulled you from your musings. You transferred the clean load into the dryer, then threw the remaining clothes into the machine. You were about to push the button to start it when you decided to put the shorts and t-shirt you were wearing in with the rest of the clothes. You quickly stripped out of them, tossed them in the machine and hit the button, leaving you in your bra and panties.

After the water started to fill the machine, you realized that you couldn’t just hang out in Steve’s apartment in your underwear and you definitely couldn’t walk down the hall to your apartment practically naked. You certainly hadn’t thought it through before throwing your clothes in the wash; you’d become too comfortable in Steve’s apartment since you’d started doing your laundry there. 

You looked around the small laundry room, wondering if there was something you could put on so you could sneak down the hall to your apartment. Your eye caught a pile of clothes on the shelf above the machine, next to the laundry detergent. Stretching up on your tiptoes, you snagged them, sighing in frustration when they tumbled to the floor. You grabbed the first shirt you saw and yanked it on, then you quickly picked up the clothes you’d dropped. It wasn’t like Steve would know you had borrowed his shirt; he wouldn’t be home for hours and you’d be long gone by then, his shirt back with the pile of clothes on the shelf.

You could smell Steve on the shirt now covering you, a kind of woodsy clean smell, like the forest after a rain shower. The shirt was threadbare in some spots, the hem ragged and unraveling, but it was super soft, comfortable, sort of what you would imagine it would feel like to be wrapped in Steve’s arms.

You brushed a hand through your hair and stepped out of the laundry room, right into Steve, who was leaning against the bookshelves across from the arched doorway, one eyebrow raised, smirking.

“Shit,” you squeaked, jumping and instinctively grabbing the front of your shirt - well, Steve’s shirt - and yanking it down, trying to cover your bottom half.

“That’s my shirt,” he said, nodding at the you and the shirt you were desperately trying to pull down to cover your bright red underwear.

“Oh my God, Steve,” you hissed. “You scared the crap out of me.” You swallowed around the knot that had risen from your stomach to your throat, your hands shaking the tiniest bit, your cheeks warm, your legs like jello, barely holding you up. You grabbed the edge of the washing machine to keep yourself upright.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he repeated calmly, as if you weren’t completely, unbelievably aware of the fact that you were wearing his clothes. He took a step closer, his hands in his pockets, that smirk widening noticeably.

“I know, I’m sorry, it was only for a second, I just need to run to my apartment and grab some clothes.” The words were spilling out of you, so fast you barely understood yourself. “I didn’t think you’d be home, I mean, not this early anyway, I figured it would be another couple of hours, or that maybe you were out of town for work, I don’t know, I guess I shouldn’t presume, not with your schedule -”

“Y/N,” Steve cut you off, closing the distance between you, forcing you back a step until your back was pressed against the washing machine, your hands gripping the edge, knuckles aching. He was inches away from you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He put a hand on either side of you, thumbs resting atop your knuckles, trapping you in place.

“Steve,” you breathed.

“I like it,” he whispered. The smirk eased into a smile as he leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. 

You dragged in a breath, your mouth open to say something, anything, but then Steve was kissing you, just a brush of his lips against yours, but the electricity sparking between the two of you was hard to deny. He stepped closer, his arm sliding around you, not an inch of space between you, your hands now splayed across his chest, his hips nestled against yours.

“I think you should give it back to me,” he murmured. He picked you up and set you on the spinning washing machine, a gasp leaving you at how easily, how quickly he moved. “Now.”

You nodded, words escaping you, especially with Steve’s piercing blue eyes staring into yours. You grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it over your head. You put it in Steve’s hands and waited.

“Thank you,” he chuckled before wrapping his arms around you and kissing you again.

 


End file.
